When Lascaro in official Wise thus heard himself announced As a hero, then he smiled In his beard and blushed for joy.
And in stammering syllables And in broken phrases he Stuttered forth his gratitude For the honour shown to him.
Wonder-smitten then stood all At the unexpected sight, And in low and timid tones Thus the ancient women spoke:
"Did you hear Lascaro laugh? Did you see Lascaro blush? Did you hear Lascaro speak? He the witch's perished son!"
On that very day they flayed Atta Troll. At auction they Sold his hide. A furrier bid Just an even hundred francs.
And the furrier decked the skin Handsomely, and mounted it All on scarlet. For this work He demanded twice the cost.
From a third hand Juliet Then received it. Now it lies As a rug before her bed In the city by the Seine.
Oh, how many nights I've stood Barefoot on the earthly husk Of my hero great and true, On the hide of Atta Troll!
Then by sorrow deeply touched Would I think of Schiller's words: "That which song would make eternal First must perish from the Earth."
What of Mumma? Mumma, ah! Is a woman. Frailty Is her name! Alas, that women Should be frail as porcelain!
Now when Fate had parted her From her great and noble mate, Did she perish of her woe, Sinking into hopeless gloom?
Nay, contrarywise, she lived Merrily as ever--danced For the public as before, Eager for their plaudits too.
And at last a splendid place And support for all her days Was procured for her in Paris At the old Jardin-des-Plantes.
There, last Sunday as I strolled Through that place with Juliet, Baring Nature's realms to her-- Animal and vegetable,--
Tall giraffes, and cedars brought Out of Lebanon, the huge Dromedary, golden pheasants, And the zebra;--chatting thus,--
We at last stood still and leaned O'er the rampart of that pit Where the bears are safely penned-- Heavens! what a sight we saw!
There a huge bear from the wastes Of Siberia, snowy-white, Dallied in a love-feast sweet With a she-bear small and dark.
This was Mumma! This, alas, Was the mate of Atta Troll! Well I knew her by the soft Glances of her dewy eye.
It was she! the daughter dark Of the Southland! Mumma lives With a Russian now; she lives With this savage of the North!
Smirking spake a negro then, Coming up with stealthy pace: "Could there be a fairer sight Than a pair of lovers, say?"